


john's plan b

by AlasPoorAndy



Series: i occasionally take requests from tumblr [2]
Category: Bandom, The Who
Genre: M/M, Multi, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tumblr request, Underage - Freeform, bad bad very bad, john is the hot music teacher, the pen is a metaphor btw, this is really sketchy i'm sorry, toxic behaviour, toxic environment, wrong illegal bad stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorAndy/pseuds/AlasPoorAndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John decided he needed to throw his weight into his teaching to compensate for his professional failures prior to this. And perhaps he needed to step up his game and take a bigger interest in his student’s lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	john's plan b

**Author's Note:**

> part of a new series where i take requests from tumblr to make up for all my other delayed projects.
> 
> side note, i do not condone any of this shit in any other context than silly fictional stories on the internet.X
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzQvGz6_fvA

John could vividly recall the survival of the fittest lifestyle in high school, but when he returned a few years later as a young man to teach, he learned quite quickly that surviving as a teacher was definitely much harder. 

There were many strict rules for faculty behaviour, although many were unwritten. There was a certain way to act around the students in public, as well as with the teachers in private. Dealing with the parents was a whole other story. 

To put it simply; a teacher wasn’t necessarily forbidden from staring at a freshman girl in her short summer dress, but you were forbidden from ogling long enough to scare the girl and receive a flood of angry letters from parents. That was how John’s predecessor got canned, and how John got his job so easily. The perverted old music teacher made himself too obvious, and even let it slip that all the teachers were perverted too. He was promptly thrown under the bus and practically exiled from the town. 

On his first day, John learned he was replacing a much hated man. Everyone believed, assumptively and on their own terms, that since John was a young and fit man, funny and charming, that he couldn’t possibly be as wicked as the man before him. John did not correct them, and for a long time tricked himself into believing they were right.

There’s no need to be surprised at this, of course. You learn quite quickly how predatory some teachers are at every school, picking out favourite students to fantasize about and spoil in class, like champion animals at a zoo. When you’re cooped up in the same building for decades trying to earn seniority, things get boring for the staff. 

Not that you could blame any of them either. There was always so much to see, and so much tension to feel. For their four years in secondary school, you couldn’t help but watch in awe as the young girls awkwardly navigated their slow blossom into gorgeous women. The magic is in watching them learn how to be sexual creatures and use that allure for power. And the boys—god, the young boys—had tension and energy and power packed into their small lithe bodies, brimming with a palpable sexuality they didn’t know how to handle. So, the boys roughhoused with each other on the fields or in the hallways, desperate for an innocent touch that verged on something more sinister, and chased after the girls with only one instinctual need on their minds, never satisfied until they were thoroughly used and spent. 

One young math teacher once explained to John that teachers were there to better the lives of their students, and push them further to expand their horizons. 

“But if they’re so distracted all the time, they can’t learn. It’s my duty to simply help them clear their minds of other curiosities so they can focus better in school,” the woman shrugged and stirred her coffee with a plastic stir stick, and John watched her, his jaw practically hitting the floor.

Perhaps it was time for John to rethink his motivations as a teacher. This was, after all, a temporary plan B until he could get back on his feet again. He didn’t make it big in London as a session bass player just yet, having been beat out by two other geniuses that stole all the gigs from under his nose the second he got any momentum going. John used the last of his savings to move back out to a smaller suburb and teach. He didn’t technically need a teacher’s degree for music classes or conducting the school band since the rules were still jumbled up at the time, and he was essentially giving glorified music lessons. Even better for him, the school was desperate to pull in a fresh and trustworthy face to cover up their scandal.

So, he taught four music classes a day, along with the senior jazz band on Tuesday afternoons, and he co-captained the junior choir with the drama teacher on Thursday nights. Everyone thought he was dedicated, passionate, nimble, and focused. The students generally liked him, although they couldn’t spell his name right, which was telling of their dedication to a struggling extra-curricular: Entwhistle, Entistle, Enwistle. Hell, he let his students call him John half the time for his own sake, which therefore made him seem even more cool in the eyes of the teenagers.

Soon after he started working and learned the ropes, John decided didn’t have much else going on in his life at the moment. He needed to throw his weight into his teaching to compensate for his professional failures prior to this. And perhaps he needed to step up his game and take a bigger interest in his student’s lives.

*

There was a promising flutist he taught after school, schedules permitting. She was preparing for her audition for the biggest performing arts school in England, and John coached her on the competitive nature and professionalism of the industry, which he didn’t mention had already chewed him up and spit him out. She was exceptionally talented but still held back for a fear of failure after giving it your all. Oftentimes, she seemed to purposely wilt just so John would pick her up again—placing a hand on her back to fix her posture, or thoroughly complimenting her until her pale cheeks had gone rosy, lips curved in a satisfied smile. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t know the girl fancied him. He was, after all, the only one she could trust and confide in about her ambitious dreams, bridging the gap in her fantasies between reliable father figure and intimate confidant, both something she obviously lacked in her life and projected onto John. 

“She trusts you, it’s not like you’re forcing anything,” the gym teacher told John as they walked out to the car park together. “Just handle her a bit, get her to loosen up. She’s far too rigid for the rest of us.”

So John tried one day. He had been curious, although not keen since she seemed a little emotionally unstable. Nevertheless, they chatted in the music room until the noisy floor cleaner came through the hallways to clean the melted snow from everyone’s muddy boots, a nuance John carefully planned. Since it was too noisy, he shut the door. Since she was quiet, he had to sit closer to her. Since her audition was fast approaching, they had to make serious progress. 

John hovered around her as her fingers skillfully danced over the shiny metal of her flute, precisely focused, her stomach growing and shrinking under her tight sweater with carefully practiced breathing. While she played, John pulled her long golden hair back from her face, startling her and throwing her off her count, which she struggled to make up for. He placed his hands on her shoulders to ease the hunched tension she carried, the pad of his thumb brushing the nape of her neck. Her breathing fell out of rhythm. John knelt down in front of her, hands on both her knees, pressing her legs closed again after they had instinctively fallen open after his touch. She nearly choked.

“Please stay focused,” John tutted. “You need to act professional.”

“I can’t, you’re being terribly distracting,” she said breathlessly, a mischievous glimmer in her eye.

“A good musician must be able to stay focused despite all distractions,” John warned her. He leaned in and took her hands, guiding her flute back to her small peach coloured lips. “Do it again. From the beginning.”

John enjoyed teasing her like that with light touches and gentle petting, but he soon became bored. There wasn’t much thrill to the chase, nor did she seem like she’d be very exciting. Of course, she later passed her audition with flying colours and bought him a bouquet of flowers and wine to thank him. There was a lingering moment after all of that, one where anything could happen if they truly wanted it to. 

John made an excuse about something or other, and left. The girl remained quite obsessed with him until she graduated at the end of the year, but he kept finding reasons not to see her, upset with his own dissatisfaction.

*

After that failed experiment, a new student came along. He was a typical problem child; an untameable hurricane, passed from teacher to teacher to temporarily deal with until they could get him a diploma and out of their lives for good. He was recommended to John as a last resort, the principal believing some artistic outlets might help him deal with his problems—innumerable as they may be.

They already had him on every sports team to try and exhaust him, but he still disrupted classes during the day. Thus, on Friday afternoons when no team practiced, Keith Moon was shipped down to John’s class for some casual music lessons. John tried to explain every instrument they had available but Keith just couldn’t stop fucking fidgeting so John gave up. He handed the boy some drumsticks from the drawer and set him loose on the drum kit to expel some energy.

Keith didn’t hesitate. Like a wild animal, he tore on the drums, beating the shit out of each piece to make the loudest noises physically possible. John watched in horror as he unleashed his fury. If the drums were substituted for a fully grown man, he could have murdered without blinking an eye. John watched as he eventually dropped the sticks and went to plow his fist through the skin of the drum. John was up and by his side in an instant, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s thin wrist to hold him back. The dead silence was electrifying.

Keith hadn’t known what he was capable of. John hadn’t known a boy could have so much anger in him. Keith slowly looked up at John, scared of his own capabilities. John felt his pulse racing like a hummingbird under his tight grip around the boy’s wrist. 

“Pick up your sticks,” John said slowly. “Try again.”

Keith instantly obeyed, which pleased John. He sat back and watched, trusting Keith to control himself as he started experimenting some more. One glance over him gave John all the backstory he needed to know—hem on the sleeve of his shirt was ripped and never repaired by a loving mother, knees on his uniform trousers were permanently dirty from romping around. He was a little skinnier than he should be, and his hair was hair overgrown and messy. He either had parents who didn’t care enough, or parents who cared too much and made him rebel, refusing to let anyone touch him.

Keith naturally shifted into focus, which naturally shifted into his discovery of rhythm once he satisfied the desire to crash around. His head flopped and his mouth twisted, and John couldn’t pull his eyes away. There were natural virtuosos, and then there was this kid.

When Keith finished, he looked up at John with a look so open and vulnerable, John was winded. That night, when John closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, all he could see were those huge, soulful eyes begging for something exclusively from John, making him shake beneath the covers.

*

The following week, John noticed Keith was everywhere. John would turn a corner and find him goofing off in the hallway with his classmates, or he’d hear his boisterous laugh from a nearby classroom. He would search the crowd of faces in the hallway between classes, desperate to find those pleading brown eyes, masochistically enjoying the shock they gave him.

*

John had Keith sit in with the senior jazz band rehearsals to get a feel for how a drummer would rehearse and play professionally, not just spastically to relieve anger. John watched Keith the whole rehearsal, ignoring his other bright and talented students. Keith was obviously bored but was trying his best to learn for John and gain his approval. 

*

During breaks from whatever sports practice he had in the afternoons, Keith would fill up his bottle at the water fountain outside the door to John’s office, initially oblivious that he was in John’s eyeshot. At first it was a chance encounter, then it became habit. 

Keith’s unruly mop of hair was sticking in clumps to his sweaty forehead, his cheeks flushed red, mouth falling open as he struggled to catch his breath. His gangly and bruised legs poked out from his uniform gym shorts, which John was positive the gym teacher purposely shortened every year. His grey t-shirt was already sweat through completely, and John forced himself not to think about what his skin might taste like.

John pretended not to notice when Keith looked over at him, but one time Keith did catch his eye, then smiled and waved enthusiastically at his new favourite teacher. John was so shocked that he fumbled and dropped his pen. After he scrambled to pick it up, Keith was gone. 

*

Perhaps there were deeply layered and complicated reasons why John did what he did, but he knew for sure that he desperately needed to see how far Keith would trust him. 

It was for that reason that John pushed Keith so hard on all those tense, adrenaline fuelled afternoons they shared. Keith needed order and structure, and someone who wouldn’t give up on him for once. John needed to accomplish something worthwhile with his damn life before another professional failure killed him. 

John would push him until he cracked, just to see how long Keith would hold on for him. 

John shouted at him to go faster, hit harder, be louder. He waited for the brim of sweat on Keith’s forehead which he couldn’t break to wipe away as it trailed teasingly down his temple. Keith winced and twisted his mouth as he worked through the complex exercises John wrote for him, his arms still untrained for the spastic and repetitive movements. Yet Keith never cracked under pressure. He always managed to find one last tug of energy, always scrambling to reach every goal John set for him.

*

He didn’t even know how old he was, and he was terrified to ask. There was no innocent reason to ask. 

John subtly tried to pry his teachers for what grade he was in, but he was in a variety of mixed level classes, often placed lower because of his bad behaviour and learning difficulties. Eventually, he cracked and asked the gym teacher who coached him.

The older man gave him a look, but it turned understanding. “I wouldn’t meddle, John. He’s got way too many problems. Ones like those get obsessive.”

John glared at him, at first angry at the implications that John’s adoration for Keith was frowned upon from someone as notorious as the coach, and then later angry that other people were talking bad about his student like that. “I just want to know when he’s expected to graduate. I want to get him good enough to perform with the band.”

The gym teacher shook his head, balling up the cellophane from the sandwich his wife made for him. “He’s 17. Too old already, if you ask me.”

John was stuck in that unwarranted bout of pure anger for the rest of the day, because Keith was still too painfully young.

*

On an ordinary Sunday night, John let another dream wander too far until he was thinking about the boy’s bare chest rising and falling, slick with sweat. John was imagining the sound of his whimpers as his face contorted, in agony and frustration, trying to work through one of John’s problems, always just too big to handle. In the dream, the dark brown eyes finally sprang open, looking shocked, then relieved, then his soft plush lips sounding out, _"Oh.”_

John was ripped from sleep, and in the dark of his empty bedroom he shook and coughed viciously, body filled with ice but sweating flames nonetheless.

*

In the classroom, Keith did everything John instructed. He sat on the small stool, finally patient enough to listen attentively and hang off of every word, even perfectly mimicking every one of John’s movements.

 _He would do anything I told him to, he trusts me too much,_ John thought as Keith dutifully practiced the jazz rhythm section for the band, over and over until he perfected it. _Keith, take your shirt off for me. Keith, come sit in my lap. Keith, place your small hand here._

In the staff room, John was now being praised by all the other teachers. 

“You’ve sparked some new drive in him I haven’t seen before,” his English teacher remarked, chewing on the tip of her pen.

“What did you have to do to get him to like you that much, John?” the blonde history teacher curled a lock of hair around her finger.

“I told you, all that kid needed was a firm hand to whip him into shape,” the gym teacher winked, blowing on his coffee.

“We know what you’ve done to him, John, and we appreciate it,” the math teacher sighed. “But now he won’t stop drumming on his desk during class. Think about punishing him for that, eh?”

“I think you need to help him clear his mind so he can focus on his assignments instead,” the vice principal smirked.

*

One week, Keith’s temper was dangerously short, and John suspected problems at home were driving him battier than usual. John had a prepatory period between classes, and was surprised to find Keith had been sent down to his classroom for behavioural issues, and not the principal’s office. 

Wordlessly, John went to the drawer to fetch the drumsticks, handing them to Keith who went straight to the kit to viciously pulverize it. John watched the boy work until he was spent, slumped over the kit, struggling to catch his breath. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” John asked quietly, biting his bottom lip and weighing his potential options. 

Keith just shook his head, but they exchanged quite the familiar look—that look of a man who hates himself but has no choice but to live with who he was.

*

Around the school, their names were always mentioned together in the same breath.

_Have you heard of John’s student, Keith?_

_Keith got invited to auditions at all sorts of places, John loves showing him off._

_Ever since John got his hands on him, Keith’s changed._

_Keith never stops talking about his rehearsals with John._

_John never stops talking about his rehearsals with Keith._

_Yeah, Keith is John’s boy._

This was about the time when John started drinking heavily again.

*

Except for the necessary touch during their first practice together, John had never laid a finger on the boy. He was trying to be good, but he was doubting it was worth it. He was going god damn fucking insane.

In the shower, he sobbed out Keith’s name as he came all over the tile wall.

John picked up random women at bars to scratch an itch that was slowly turning into an incurable rash. In bed, he thought of the boy’s small, tight muscles working on the football field outside John’s window, which he had permanently scheduled into his day to discreetly watch from his classroom. The women never said anything when John called out his name instead of hers. 

In class, as utterly attractive as Keith was, John had to force himself to look away before his other thirty students saw right through him. 

*  
“Please, sir, I missed the last bus, my mum’s going to be pissed if I’m late again,” Keith pleaded over the roar of the vicious rainstorm outside.

John was using every bit of strength he had to say no to him. Eventually he had to turn his back to avoid those brown eyes, speaking precisely. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise,” Keith started to sound desperate, and John’s knees almost buckled. “You can just drop me off on the main street and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

 _You’re seventeen. That should be enough to convince me to say no._

He didn’t want the poor kid to get in trouble with his parents, or risk catching his death, or a driver not seeing him in the rain and running right into him…John would protect any of his students, right? 

Eventually John caved, reaching for his wallet in his coat pocket. He didn’t even look Keith in the eye when he handed over a generous amount of cash. “Take a cab. Get home safely.”

That night, John replayed the look of disappointment in Keith’s face over and over in his head as he clutched the toilet, drunkenly retching and shaking.

*

John had started to become increasingly paranoid that Keith was interested in other people. 

John followed Keith’s usual routes through the hallways between classes, always trailing far back enough, noting who he talked to or smiled at when passing by. He got along well with the girls, and John felt his stomach twisting in anger.

Every teacher he stayed late to talk with was a threat, and John took a habit to straying around doorways to eavesdrop, pretending to drop his papers or put up posters on the bulletin board.

The boy didn’t have many friends, which was a relief to John. Keith was, however, close with the boys on the football team, and John watched with delight as they clutched each other after scoring a goal, or teasingly groped, or walked off the field with their arms around each other. 

God, if only the coach would help him find a way to spy on them all in the locker room. John was positive one glimpse of Keith in the showers would satisfy him for a lifetime. Yet he never did ask.

*

To keep him interested, John praised Keith nonstop, watching Keith blossom under his approval. John scheduled more frequent rehearsals so Keith wouldn’t have time for anyone else, and John gave him harder sections so there was more work to do. Keith didn’t protest in the slightest, which was immensely pleasurable.

To convince Keith to stay later, John kept paying for cab rides home. This lead to John buying him treats for when he got hungry, even sharing the leftovers John brought for dinner. Then, he got Keith better equipment. Then, he bought little gifts he thought Keith might like. It was all money out of his own pocket, but who else was John going to spend it on? Plus, no amount of alcohol could feel as good as when Keith’s face lit up with joy like that.

“John, it’s lovely!” Keith looked up at him with so much love in his eyes that John was about to drop dead. Keith looked as though he was going to go in for a hug, or brief touch, but they both hesitated. 

*

Keith came by John’s classroom to talk every morning, lunch break, and afternoon. John missed him more every time he left.

*

John was truly dying. He was positive that if he didn’t touch Keith, even graze the skin of his fingertips accidentally, he would surely die of lust. His desire grew like a forest fire in the pit of his stomach, and it was slowly taking over every part of him, consuming him whole. Yet there was never the opportunity to facilitate any sort of contact. Keith reigned from behind the kit, and John sat back to watch.

What if he just asked Keith for a little tease? Or a simple kiss? 

*

God, there were so many dirty things he couldn’t wait to teach Keith. 

John always thought he had himself under control, but nowadays, just having Keith an arm’s length away made John feverish and dizzy.

If Keith said the word, John would be all over him in an instant. He would take Keith in the side room where the instruments were stored. The door locked from the inside and they could be as loud as they wanted. He would have Keith on his desk chair, or the piano bench, or even bent over John’s desk.

John just needed to touch him, to taste him, to satisfy him in any and every way. 

He could ask Keith to run away with him, and they could hop border after border, sleeping in the car and living off of coffee and boxes of crackers. They could live in motel rooms but make the space their own. John could get Keith to audition for some bands and manage them, always being able to be close to the boy and take care of him.

And their nights together. Good Lord, that would be a treat.

John daydreamed all the time about the luxury of having Keith properly, in a bed, with privacy and all the time in the world. If Keith trusted him enough, John would teach him everything he needed to know, in intricate detail, with all the loving patience that the boy needed.

It would all be gloriously educational. That was what John’s job was all about, wasn’t it?

*

“He looks like a schoolgirl with a crush,” the English teacher had laughed.

That afternoon, John put a hand on Keith’s shoulder, leaning in close as he showed him new sheet music. The touch burned both of them.

“Everyone knows he secretly fancies you,” the blonde history teacher had told him, biting the tip of her pen.

John handed Keith the papers and drum sticks, their fingers brushing, sparks flying behind John’s eyes.

“The boys on the team tease him about it all the time, he goes red right away,” the gym teacher had shook his head. “If you want him, you’ve got him.”

John pushed Keith through the complicated drumming patterns. He knew it was too advanced for Keith but the boy needed to be challenged. John stared him down, drinking in the sight of Keith starting to sweat, physically exerting himself behind the giant drum kit. 

_Do it for me, Keith. Do it for me, do it for me._

Keith came to a sloppy, clattering finish, but he glowed with the satisfaction of making it through the piece alive and almost in time. John slowly walked beside him and leaned in close, combing the sweaty fringe out of Keith’s eyes. The unexpected act of affection made Keith’s mouth drop open in surprise.

“He adores you, John,” the math teacher had told him one night as they were walking out the building together. “You can do anything you want. He wouldn’t protest.”

They finished reviewing their new rehearsal schedule at John’s desk, Keith sitting close enough to John that his knee grazed John’s leg. 

“You did a good job today, Keith.” John smiled sweetly and put his pen down, then placed his hand on Keith’s leg, his thumb brushing the inside of the boy’s thigh. Keith scrambled to cover the sudden tightness in his jeans, his cheeks reddening. 

*

He was a kid, for fuck’s sakes. 

His mother still did his laundry, he still got scolded by his father for staying out past his curfew. The boy got frustrated to the point of tears when he struggled with his math homework. 

God, Keith even confided in John that he’s never had his first kiss.

_You’re disgusting John, you’re disgusting, you don’t deserve any happiness, you bastard._

John kept drinking and drinking, his stomach begging him to stop but he continued too quickly anyways. He convinced himself he deserved the sickness that soon followed. He would do whatever it took to get those thoughts to blur and fade away from his mind so the guilt might relieve itself a little.

John was a wreck in class the next morning, and he let the students take it easy for the day. John did try to avoid Keith, really, he did. Yet they were always pulled towards each other whether they liked it or not. 

*

In late July, the students were finishing exams and preparing year end celebrations. There had been a triumphant band performance for the whole school to watch. John conducted his students with the utmost pride and love, knowing that despite all this, he would miss them. His own talents as a conductor were outshined by Keith, who stole the show with an improvised drum solo that got everyone cheering. John had abandoned his professional front and watched Keith with genuine love that somehow fogged over his insurmountable lust.

It was a good thing John had already handed in his resignation letter. He needed to get the fuck out of there. 

Keith was the only one who volunteered to help John wheel the instruments back to the music room on old rickety carts. As the other students scrambled to get ready and catch their rides home, it was just John and Keith alone in the mess of a music room, cleaning and stacking and organizing the room, preparing to leave everything for the summer. John had his tie loosened, a few buttons of his dress shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he sweat through all the physical activity. God, he was getting old. Keith tore around the room like a hurricane, doing most of the work for John. He knew the music room and the storage closets just as well as John did.

John let Keith do all the heavy lifting, and he tended to the clutter on his desk, piled high with final reports and thank you cards from teachers, students, and parents. They really did like him after all this. ”So, what are your plans for the summer break, Keith?”

Keith came over and sat on a box filled with books by John’s desk, looking up at him with those big brown eyes that still shocked John like that first day they met. 

“We don’t have much planned, really. I think my parents are going to take me camping for my birthday in August, though.”

“Oh?” John avoided his gaze, occupying himself with slipping papers in a desk drawer. “How old will you be turning, anyways?”

“Eighteen, sir,” Keith smiled. “Old enough to vote.”

“Of course,” John turned his back to him, hiding his reddening face.

“You know, I won’t be doing anything else this summer. I’ll be stuck at home all break,” Keith stood up again, leaning his hip against John’s desk, inching ever closer. “Mum said I should keep taking music lessons. Know anyone who’s teaching?”

John summed up the courage to look over at Keith. “Well, I’ll still be in town for a few more months until my lease on the house is up.”

Keith gave him a pretty smile, playing along wonderfully. “I should come round, then. I’ve decided I want to be the best drummer in the world.”

“There’s still plenty I have to teach you,” John didn’t break his gaze with the boy. “If you’re up for it, anyways.”

“Don’t be daft, you know I am,” Keith told him, and John sighed with relief.

*

**Author's Note:**

> so i whipped this request up quickly to keep you guys interested, and also to apologize for the delay in THE BIG PROJECT. if you haven't been keeping up, i'm putting it on hold for a month while i focus on a course at school. it's a bigger beast than i thought it would be so i'm taking my time and making sure it's perfect. in the meantime, i'll be taking more short requests from tumblr. do keep in touch! http://my-g-g-g-generation.tumblr.com/


End file.
